


Alumnus of the Sea Change

by nina_monk



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Insert your favorite Velvet Underground lyrics here, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Nihilism, Not a Happy Story, Not a good time is had by all, ends questionably, everyone is horrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-07-30 08:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_monk/pseuds/nina_monk
Summary: Tony Stark is a rose, is a rose, is a rose. Or: I do not think his name means what you think it means, Bruce.





	1. Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This story began as a stream-of-consciousness endeavor for ScienceBrosWeek 2019, and turned into...something darker. Think of it as a "what if," but caution: fic contains tough questions with no good or easy answers.

Bruce simultaneously wiped his forehead and cupped his hand over his glasses, protecting his eyes from the glare of rusted junk scattered across the clearing. Besides machine parts there wasn’t much here other than brambles, scraggly brown weeds, and burnt patches of road gravel - and the occasional ugly, raggedy bird, scratching at burnt crumbs. The place hadn’t seen rain for weeks or maybe even months, and the abandoned farm looked exactly like what he expected to see. Or worse.**  
**

A sudden gust from the _föhn_-ish winds shoved the air like a tired toddler and kicked up clouds of gravel dust, choking off the oxygen in Bruce’s throat. 

So, okay. Definitely worse.

He hazarded a glance at Tony who despite the blistering heat looked ready for a photo shoot. Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Was there ever a time Tony looked anything but perfectly put-together? Apart from the days he crawled beneath a clunker’s belly, ready to spin grime into polished chrome? 

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Sweat trickled from the hairs on Bruce’s neck. He could feel the droplets settling uncomfortably beneath his collar, merging with the grimy film. The only positive? The weather was too hot and dry for mosquitoes - just gnats circling, pestering the hell out of them.

Bruce swatted back a gnat cloud. “Scenic tour, is it?”

Tony’d gone strangely quiet, but then he’d been uncharacteristically silent since their Cessna landed on the camouflaged airstrip, hours ago. Their driver had sped from the tarmac and over the twists and turns of winding county back roads, and Bruce spent the first hour watching Tony sip from a flask. The most Bruce got from him was a few rough “uh huhs,” some “maybes,” and a chuckle or two. And already unsettled from the plane ride (he was a terrible flier, everyone knew it), Bruce let the bumpy ride over lull him to sleep the rest of the way before reaching this dead, middle-of-nowhere place. He’d been too tired and frustrated to question Tony’s silence before now. 

When the limo slowed Bruce opened his eyes, shaking the lingering sleep from his bones. He listened as the limo’s tires popped and rumbled over craggy rocks and pebbles and he groaned and stretched as the limo lumbered to a stop. After they exited the car, he briefly watched as it receded into a canopy of knotty trees and wondered if Happy would ever find them again. 

Tony inhaled sharply and twisted his body in Bruce’s direction. “Not exactly.” The metal frames of his glasses caught the sun, causing Bruce to squint. Tony’s grin didn’t reassure him. “Let’s head inside. Away from the heat.”

Bruce tried, failed from halting a comical double-take. “Where?” He scrunched his face at the distant “barn,” a careening red structure and one strong wind away from becoming rubble. “Surely not–”

“Appearances, Brucie,” Tony said, taking off his jacket and slinging it over one shoulder. He strode towards the barn before Bruce angrily trudged after him. “You of all people should know what that means.”

“It’s a mile away, so you better be right,” Bruce grumbled. He wasn’t in the mood but admittedly he’d been spoiled. Years ago, dry, dust-choked places like this wouldn’t have phased him in the least. They were paradises, in some lands. But he’d hung around Tony’s sweet life for far too long now and yearned for temperature controlled buildings and AIA-winning environments. 

He made a face and huffed after Tony’s rapid retreat, suddenly hating how mercilessly soft he’d become. He knew that meant many uncomfortable things but it hurt to poke the truth; he’d rather be angry at himself, at how quickly his runner's physique had devolved to flab.

Tony flipped around and walked backwards so Bruce could catch up. “If you went for a jog with me every so often,” he grinned, and Bruce wanted to punch his gleaming teeth, “you wouldn’t be so out of breath.”

“I’d rather be fat, than a drunk,” Bruce retorted hotly, but Tony’s grin didn’t falter as Bruce matched the billionaire’s steps. 

“Tsk. Temper, temper, Brucie. And touché.” Tony gave Bruce a cursory nod and slowed his pace. “You’re not huge, you’re chub light. High side of average for a red-blooded American male.”

“Are you going to keep jabbering on about my weight, or are you going to explain why we’re here?”

Tony’s smile thinned, catching Bruce off-guard. He preferred their banter, honestly. Much better than the sadness he caught from Tony’s eye. “Do you remember,” Tony sighed, “when my father died?”

“Yeah, I do.” Bruce’s tone softened and Tony further slowed as they trudged toward the barn. “Happened a little after we’d gone our separate ways, Rhodey to the armed forces, me to the Peace Corps. You were finishing up your doctoral thesis, as I recall.” 

“Mmhm.” The rest of his response died a little, muffled by their feet scraping the gravel pathway. “Howard Stark, entrepreneur extraordinaire. I took over the business, kicked out the old guard, fought my way back to the top before buying you back from the big bad gov'ments a decade later—”

“Not true,” Bruce puffed. “First I was in the Peace Corps. Then an aid worker. Then--”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Christ. Barely scraping by, fine. Ross still had your patents and you would’ve crawled back to his protective arms soon enough. He was counting on it.”

“Whatever,” Bruce rumbled. “Anyway. Yes. You bought back my patents, you turned SI from a monster into a clean tech leader, turned Rhodey into SI’s government liaison with their blessing, and turned me into a fat desk jockey.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, giving Bruce the side-eye.

“Fine,” Bruce rumbled. “Sitting and eating behind a desk turned me into a fat desk jockey. And before you ask, no I’m not blaming you. It’s my doing after becoming SI’s R&D lead.” He waved off his anger, pretending to swat another cloud of gnats. “So? What’s your point? That’s ancient history. We know that.” He gestured between them. “You, me. Rhodey. The three of us know that.” 

“However. I never told you the whole story.”

Bruce opened his mouth but couldn’t find anything to say. He’d known Tony for over twenty years, but never knew Tony to hide anything from him. Or Rhodey. “What story?” He finally asked. 

“That Pops was a…Secret Agent, man,” Tony sang, off key. “Helped run covert ops with my Aunt Peg.”

Bruce stopped dead and only partly because his feet hurt. “You’re putting me on.” But after a few beats of silence he realized the man wasn’t joking. “Seriously, your Dad? The asshole?”

“Hey, now,” Tony admonished. “Only I’m allowed to call him that. And don’t stand there like a dead pigeon. There are spies around and they get trigger happy if people linger out here.”

“What?” Bruce ducked and wildly glanced around the plains.

“Sorry. I’m joking.” Tony snickered and waited until Bruce caught up. “At least I think I’m joking. Honestly, I don’t know how spies operate.”

“Jesus Christ. Don’t joke about that. I still get nightmares of the DRC.”

“Sorry,” Tony repeated, and Bruce could tell he was genuinely sorry. Then, after a pause: “I…didn’t know you still had ‘em.”

Bruce rubbed his brow ridge with a shaky thumb. He would’ve let him off, told him he was joking, but it would’ve been a lie and he was a terrible fibber. “You never really forget.”

“True.” 

Bruce opened his mouth then quietly shut it; it wasn’t the time or the place. If they wanted to swap more horror stories and compare pasts it’d take a lot of time and beer. Copious amounts of both. 

He’d heard about Tony’s kidnapping while abroad and although it mirrored some of his experiences, Bruce’s own detention had been…longer. He’d broke from his initial captivity before spending years on the run, fighting his way from militia group to militia group and running illegally through foreign checkpoints. Sometimes he got caught. Sometimes good people died. He regretted much of what he did to survive, to get back. And Rhodey hadn’t been around to rescue him like he’d done for Tony. 

Still. They both realized how lucky they’d been. Despite how it changed them.

Tony stopped and Bruce realized they’d made it to the barn; it was just as bad up close. “Not much to look at,” he grumbled at the gaping front. He assessed its dilapidated state while trying to catch his breath.

Tony grinned and pulled a rickety sliding door. Bruce briefly massaged his hamstring. “What did I tell you about appearances?”

Bruce shot Tony a rude gesture.

Tony laughed, hopping inside. 

When they passed from the blazing sun into the barn, Bruce shielded his eyes again. He blinked to let his eyes adjust to the sudden change from light to dark and briefly made out a few motes, dancing between streams of warped wood. When he could fully see he saw what he expected: A pitchfork, some old bales of hay. A broken tractor.

But the man surprised him.

“Hey, Clint,” Tony said, waving to a guy casually chilling in the corner. He had sandy blonde hair and was reading a magazine while chewing on a straw. He could’ve passed for a farmer, apart from the black tactical coveralls. And sidearm. 

“Mr. Stark.” Clint didn’t even look up. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Dr. Banner’s with me.”

Bruce unconsciously began backing away. “Tony…”

Tony squeezed his shoulder and Bruce found himself melting into Tony’s touch. He hated the pull Tony had over him, but he’d take whatever he could get these days. “Don’t bolt, Brucie,” he murmured. “Promise, it’s all good. No one’s gonna stuff you in a trunk.”

“That’s what they said at the Sudan border. Look how that turned out.”

“Bruce.” Tony waited until Bruce turned to him. Tony’s eyes had hypnotic qualities, Bruce swore they did. His heart slowed and his panic fled as Tony stared him down. For good measure, for Bruce’s peace of mind, he bumped foreheads with him. “Trust me.”

“All right. Okay.” Bruce licked his dry lips. “Okay.”

Clint had been shadowing them but Bruce hadn’t noticed. The man had slipped to the door and gestured to a wall switch, still flipping through his magazine and paying them no mind. Bruce’s paranoia spiked. Really, this guy was good at his job. Too good. 

“Goin’ down?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce staggered back when flaps rose out of the floor, revealing a platform lift growing from the ground like a flower.

“Like I said,” Tony said, when the lift stopped. “Appearances.” The platform was only big enough for four small people, but at least it had a safety cage with handrails so they couldn’t fall to their deaths. 

Tony pulled the metal gate and stepped inside. Clint followed behind him. “Coming?”

Bruce swallowed, but Tony’s voice lingered in his mind: Trust me.

“Guess so.”

Bruce tentatively followed Tony onto the platform, predictably putting his fate in Tony's hands.


	2. Drip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peering deep into the rabbit hole carries serious penalties.

The ride down should’ve frightened Bruce more than it did. Maybe he was dissociating because it reminded him of too many things. Down, down they went. When he looked up, the opening from the ceiling shrank as they descended into the dark, the lips of the opening closing as slowly as they sank. But Bruce was more curious than anything; Clint had pressed one of the three buttons near his hip, but continued to flip through his magazine as if he couldn't care less about his passengers. How could he see in the growing dark? Maybe he didn’t care; maybe that was part of his job, to appear unassuming. 

He heard a sudden _clank_ with the hydraulic elevator hum, and eerie _pops_ and _pings_ ramped his anxiety. Seconds passed before he noticed strings of industrial fairy lights waking up, welcoming them as they plunged into the deep. His anxiety flickered with the bulbs, ebbing and flowing as they pulsed on the dank dolostone like lightning bugs. He’d always liked lightning bugs. He hadn’t seen any in years; he wondered if they still existed. 

“Hey. You with me?”

Tony’s voice, although still a whisper, echoed against the slick walls. Drips of karst water fell off the sides and disappeared into the ether. Somewhere in the distance he heard a drip-drip-_kerplunk_, another forgotten echo in a forbidden cavern.

“Always,” Bruce spat out, but Tony fumbled for his fingers anyway. It was just enough to shock him, something Bruce loved and hated.

The platform screeched. Bruce wasn’t sure why he’d thought they’d be in some techno marvel of an elevator, like ones in the movies. He also didn’t think they’d be in some ridiculously slow mine elevator, either.

“Okay,” Clint finally said. The elevator rattled, bouncing to a stop. “First floor, ladies.”

“Really?” 

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em.” Tony rolled his eyes as Clint turned a key and pressed another elevator button. The button glowed, maybe reading his thumbprint - hell, what did he know - and the gate squawked open. “This is where you get off.” Clint chuckled.

“I swear, Barton–”

“Sorry. But hey, it’s boring today. A guy’s gotta have fun wherever he can find it.”

“Never mind.” Tony didn’t seem too put out but he grabbed Bruce’s hand tighter and dragged him from the lift before it slowly ascended to heaven, with Clint safely tucked inside. Bruce blinked. He hadn’t seen the small bridge until now. A small walking bridge, joining the lift platform to another section of the cave. 

“We’re gettin’ there.”

“Mm.” One foot. Two feet. Three–

“Hey. Can you do one more elevator?”

“Sure.”

He accidentally peered over the sides of the bridge before they were done walking; it was a long way down. A very long way. And Bruce wasn’t sure why Tony’s hand was so tight. He’d never grabbed his hand so tightly before. Wait, no. He had. But–

Blinking, Bruce felt his heart rate slow down. The lights were brighter, calming now. “Hm. We’re in a normal elevator.”

“He lives,” Tony crowed. “Astute as always, Dr. Banner.”

“Fuck off,” Bruce said, but not unkindly. The new elevator was similar to the ones at Stark International, from what he could ascertain. Smooth ride. Very, very fast. He was used to these, and found them quite pleasurable. Soothing, even.

“How long was I–”

“A few minutes. Hardly anything.”

Bruce’s gaze followed Tony’s arm. “And yet you’re still holding my hand.”

“Am I?” Tony smirked, untangling his fingers from Bruce’s. A bead of sweat formed near Bruce’s temple and dribbled down his neck, joining the other stains from earlier. 

“It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah. But to my credit, you haven’t dissociated like that in…?”

“Years.”

“But not months.”

“No. It’s better now.”

“Which is why I was holding your hand, to ground you.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Tony smiled but didn’t answer before the doors whooshed open. Bruce’s lips parted. People hustled in front of him holding stacks of paper. Phones rang. An admin yelled “please hold, I’ll transfer you” and someone else barked “coming through” while carrying a box of donuts and a jar of coffee. Florescent light hums and its ugly glare over a white, gray, black decor. A typical day at the office and typical office workers. Except everyone wore black uniforms. Jumpsuits, really. Which would be less creepy if the outfits didn’t mimic paramilitary organizations.

“Tony, what…Is this–”

Tony left the elevator and crooked a finger towards Bruce. He waited until Bruce joined him before announcing, “Welcome to SHIELD,” and bowing before him like it was some great honor. He could’ve just as well announced “Welcome to Sherwood Forest,” because the result would’ve been the same.

“SH…what?”

“C’mere. I’ll show you around. But stick close to me, yeah?” Tony purposely kept his steps slow as he weaved through the throngs, as if he’d done the very same thing countless times. Bruce’s eyes narrowed. Tony’d known about this place, been here. For a _long_ _time_.

“Wait. _Wait_.” Bruce planted his feet, refusing to take another step. The office waltz around him took cues from Bruce’s stance and became quieter, less frenetic. Faces turned his direction and not all were welcoming. “What the hell is this, Tony? I can’t go with you.” He gestured wildly at the underground…lair? Villain’s castle? “Why the fuck am I here?”

Instantly Tony was beside him. Slinging an arm around his shoulders. Grounding him. “Sorry,” he murmured in Bruce’s ear. “Thought you’d break later.” Tony kept talking quietly but Tony’s body steered them from the crowds and towards another corner with less razzle-dazzle. Far less nonsense. 

Tony nodded to a door, off to the side; his name was on the door--

_Tony Stark,_ ** _ Assistant Director of SHIELD._ **

_What_\--?

“Shh,” Tony hushed, because he must’ve said it out loud. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a coffee. Tell you all about it inside.”

And Bruce went in because Tony told him to, and he’d always trusted him to this point. Tony wouldn’t steer him wrong. Couldn’t.

Tony’s arm was still around his shoulder but he somehow kicked open his door, leading Bruce into an office space barely half the size of what he had at SI yet still, somehow, intimidating. There was a small conference table surrounded by high end lounge chairs, abstract art on three walls with a heavy curtain covering the fourth, and a desk surrounded by two-shelf bookcases, straight from an episode of Mad Men.

“Sit,” Tony said, nodding to an overstuffed barrel chair beside one of the bookcases. 

Bruce did. He let out a happy groan as his backside plunged into bliss.

Satisfied, Tony turned to a high-end coffee maker. The room was also big enough for a decent mini bar, of course; Tony opted to rest his coffee maker on the mini bar counter, maybe as a joke. His two favorite things in the world, together. 

Two seconds later Bruce heard a hiss with a steady _drip-drip-drip_. He watched as a dark liquid titrated into a demitasse. 

Tony slid a saucer beneath the cup. “You still like cioccolotta calda, right?”

Bruce shrugged. “I did when we went to Italy, that one time. You, me, and Rhodey.”

“Well. This will remind you of our trip. Guaranteed.”

Bruce snorted while adapting to everything. The chair hugged him like it was made for his dad bod, and he let himself feel it. Let it pull him out of the red zone, and into the black. When he felt near zero he spied the plush sheepskin rug, several inches deep, surrounded his chair.

“Go on. I know you want to.”

Bruce toed off his shoes and let his socked feet comb through the rug’s fluffy furry goodness. He sighed softly. “Like it was–”

“–made for you?” Tony finished. He handed him the Italian hot chocolate. “Yeah. Kinda the point.”

“Tony–”

“Shit. Wait, don’t drink it yet.”

Bruce sighed again and let his feet flex across the sheepskin. He almost tasted his cocoa despite Tony, but Tony jiggled his hand.

“Sheesh. So goddamn impatient. What did I say?” He dropped a dollop of whipped cream - fresh whipped, it seemed - into Bruce’s cocoa. “_Now_ you can drink it.”

Bruce did, and involuntarily moaned as the flavors danced on his tongue. 

“Yeah? See?” He grinned. “And they said it couldn’t be done.”

“Mm.” Bruce’s tongue darted to the corners of his lips, lapping up every stray drop of chocolate. He finished the cup, quietly placed the cup and saucer on the small bookshelf, folded his hands over his paunch, and let his head drape over the back of the chair. 

Sighing deeply, Bruce closed his eyes. “Will you level with me now? You’re buttering me up for whatever it is. I get it. And I’m as calm as I’ll ever get today, so you might as well spit it out.”

He didn’t get an answer right away, but he didn’t expect to.

“Stop playing games with me.”

“I’m not, I’m…” Tony huffed, and Bruce opened one eye, watching him pace the length of his office. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. That’s all.”

Bruce grunted. “So start with the small things. Like why you have a curtain on a wall with no windows.”

“Who said I don’t have windows?”

“Tony. We’re underground. At least a hundred meters, I imagine, if an operation like this is going on and no one’s noticed. But you have a curtain. Why the hell do you have a curtain, when there’s nothing to goddamn see?”

Tony laughed, probably the most genuine laugh he’d heard from him all day. A full out, head back laugh, and Bruce tiredly lifted his head. “Oh, Brucie,” Tony said. He chuckled a few times. “If that’s all you wanted to know, well. That’s easy.”

He toggled something under his desk - _another _fucking_ switch_, Bruce thought sharply. He rolled his head over the back of the chair as the curtains slowly parted, not caring in the least for Tony’s “big reveal.”

“I’ve got one of the best views in the world.”

“Sure you do,” Bruce grunted. He rubbed his eyes and slowly sat back up. “What could you _possibly _have that other rich bas…”

He stopped. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again. Then tripped to his feet and went to the very edge of the window. Tall waterfalls, lush grasses and dense jungle flora and fauna filled his view. The waterfall spilled into a subterranean lake, and from the lake’s current, Bruce guessed a river was in there somewhere, too. 

_Eden_.

No, better than Eden.

“I…it’s beautiful.” Words failed him.

“Yeah, I think so.” Tony shuffled his feet. “I’ve got the best view in the house. I think there might be a few birds to the west of the falls,” he said, nodding to the window. “Dunno how they even got in, but whatever. Mi casa, and all that.”

Bruce gripped the glass, unable to drink it in fast enough. “How?” 

“You’ve heard of Sơn Đoòng cave?”

“Of course.”

“Well Dad found out, and wanted to recreate it. Make it ‘better’ or whatever. Not because he was an environmentalist, though. He wanted to prove he could do it. And in America, no less.”

Bruce scowled, tearing away from the idyllic picture. “Stop lying to me. Hang Sơn Đoòng wasn’t discovered before the 90s.”

“Fine, then.” Tony nodded to the scene. “Explain _that_, Mr. Scientist.”

But Bruce couldn’t. Instead he pretended he wasn’t dreaming, hoped he wasn’t, even though it felt like it. He wanted, very badly, to take a nap somewhere in there. To get completely lost in it. “I can’t help thinking,” he murmured. He splayed his hands over the window, as if purifying his soul. If he could translate the beauty, bottle it, and drink it. He would be absolved. Completely, utterly absolved.

“I can’t help that, despite how beautiful this is, there’s a snake somewhere.” Bruce’s heart crumbled in ways he hoped wouldn’t. God, he could be so, _so_ cynical but he was usually right. It’s what kept him alive so long. “Is this the reason you brought me here? I wish it was, I want it to be. I hope it is. But…it isn’t, is it?”

Tony slowly shook his head and smiled sadly. He dropped his gaze and fixed himself a drink. “Need you for more than the great views, buddy. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to add you to the roster. But we need you.”

Bruce swallowed and let himself view Eden, unspoiled, one last time before biting the apple of truth. “It never runs smooth, does it?”

“Nope.” Tony poured a shot of whiskey and gulped it down. “Never does.”


	3. Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger and alcohol. Politics and people. And a little angst will lead them.

Tony drank two more shots - maybe three; Bruce wasn’t counting. Then he dragged over a chair, plonking it beside Bruce’s soft self.**  
**

“All or nothing, right?”

Those same words were teased over him when Tony brought him to SI. They shook on a contract - exclusivity of anything he created, all patents returned to their rightful owners. In return he could do whatever he wanted. Create whatever he wanted. Research anything he wanted. Bruce dreamed of unlimited research grants since college and now he didn’t have to run and hide. Tony gave it to him.

Should’ve known there was a catch.

“I should’ve read the fine print.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered. In the end I usually get what I want.” Tony gestured to the mini bar. Bruce went over and opened it, found glasses and a few bottles.

“Glenlivet?” 

“Only if you’re having some,” Tony said, gazing at Bruce with hopeful eyes.

“Could never say no to you,” Bruce sighed. He dragged out two glasses and handed him the bottle. “I quit a while back, you know.”

Tony poured a jigger in his glass and made a face. “Ice, Brucie. You never forget ice.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and rooted around the mini bar freezer, for ice. He blinked. “You’ve got metal cubes in here.”

“Yeah. They’re better. They don’t dilute the flavor.”

Bruce made a noise of disgust. “I’ll take the regular ice, thanks.” He grabbed a handful of ice with Tony’s cubes and hand-carried them over. Then he dropped the metal cubes in Tony’s glass, and transferred the regular ice to his.

“Heathen,” Tony said, pouring two shots in Bruce's glass.

“It’s what you like about me.” Bruce barely tasted the liquor, but the bitter drink burned his tongue like fire. Like Tony. And because he didn’t feel like getting burned, he kept the drink at bay, hoping the ice would dilute the liquor until it became palatable to him.

“I can’t believe you gave up whisky, though. You used to drink it with Rhodey and me in college!”

“It was still a bad idea.” Bad idea then, bad idea now, Bruce thought, staring blankly at his glass. It killed his dad, and nearly caught him in the net. He could still handle beer and wine, just not the hard stuff. Probably a mental block but he didn’t want to dig too deeply into Jungian theories today. 

Picking up his glass, he twisted it in his hands. “I came back messed up. I didn’t need more of this to make it worse.”

“Valid point,” Tony muttered. He took another gulp of his drink and stared at Bruce through soulful lashes, knowing what it did to him. “So…hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” Bruce parroted. “Go on.”

“Hypothetically.” Tony knocked back the rest of his drink and grabbed the bottle. “There’s a chance the world might go cocks over tea cups in a few years.”

Bruce shrugged. “That’s always been true. The world’s one mistake from a unilateral nuclear war.”

“Lovin’ that optimism, doc.”

Bruce took another forbidden sip and shuddered at the bite. “Nothing short of the truth. Idiots in government multiply like retroviruses, infecting the world.” And he would know, he’d been on the receiving end of a lot of dick governments and their idiotic decisions. He'd been their plaything. Anything to get him in the news or on their dockets, to fight for a cause that wasn’t his. To help heal their people. Or kill them.

“But.” Tony took another sip. “What if you could…tweak the playing field? Just a little mind you,” Tony said, holding up a hand, knowing Bruce itched to fight him. “What if you could take the decisions out of their hands, just for a while?”

Bruce rolled his lips, letting a bullish sigh filter through his nostrils. He took another small drink and swallowed before answering. “Hypothetically.”

“Sure.”

“I’d think…it’d just make things worse in the end. Anyone who fucks around with godlike powers ends up dead. Or worse.” He peered at Tony over his glass. “Can you handle worse?”

“I’ve handled worse.” Tony took another drink. “So’ve you.”

“But not…” Bruce shook his head. _Fuck it_, he thought, knocking back the bitterness in his glass. “I’m not gonna swap ‘who got hurt worse/who deserves revenge’ stories. Yeah, I’d love to get back at everyone. But trust me, Tony. When you do get revenge? It’s nothing like you’d thought it’d be.” He chuckled darkly. “The cake is a lie.”

Tony laughed. “You still play?”

“Every once in a while, when the rage gets too high. Better than an AK-47 in a shopping mall.”

Tony made a noncommittal noise and they quietly continued drinking. Against his better judgment Bruce grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass too many times. The numbness felt good - too good, really. He’d have to cut himself off.

Bruce tentatively bit his lower lip. “Are we done with hypotheticals, now?”

Tony shrugged. Bruce used it as permission and took a large sip of whisky. “So, the people out there. Who aligned with who first?”

“Dunno,” Tony said, refilling his own glass. He was miles ahead of Bruce as far as the drink went but nowhere near as tipsy. “I met Nick about a decade ago. We swapped stories, same as you and I are doing now. All hypotheticals, of course. He knew Dad, worked with him on a few deals, came to a few random conclusions around the same time I did. Nick had the people and I had the money.”

“And you had this underground legacy, where everything came together.”

“Yep.” Tony took another drink. He twirled his glass on the bookshelf, between his nimble fingers. “The cave was totally off the books. Dad told me and no one else, and his secret went with him to the grave; on paper, this is an abandoned mine owned by A, which is owned by B, who’s owned by C…_ad infinitim_. Untraceable.” 

Tony’s eyes sought Bruce’s blessing but Bruce wasn’t sure what lies and secrets his expression held. “I would’ve told you earlier, Bruce. Believe me, I would’ve.”

Bruce shrugged. Drink began tugging at his defenses, his sips becoming gulps. “The timing sucked, if we’re talking ten years ago. I’d’ve just gotten back to the States.”

“I signed you on, on the spot.”

“Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Bruce bit back choppy, shallow breaths because his past would always haunt him. “I think I did fuck-all, except curl up in your bathroom for a year. ‘Telecommuter,’ my ass.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah. Justifying that to Pepper was a bit of a spin, but there’s a reason she’s my CEO. She was up to the task. All you had to do was review the schematics for R&D and sign off on them. Didn’t take a rocket scientist.”

“Heh. I read them, at least I did that much.” Bruce took a long drink. The conversation had finally swung ‘round to the elephant in the room, and he decided to take the bait. “Reminds me. Where’s Rhodey? What’s he up to?” 

_Does he know about your schemes? Is he reporting back to his military liaisons? How much trouble are you in?_

“Around,” Tony said offhandedly, and Bruce nearly exploded. How much pulling would he have to do to drag out the fucking truth? “He’s…here.”

“He knew about this place? For how long?” Bruce couldn’t help himself. The words spilled out, revealing his angry, bitter heart. 

“Five years ago.” Tony finished his glass. Refilled it. Rinse, repeat. 

Bruce sat back in his chair, all of it dawning on him. “After he’d retired.”

“Forced out,” Tony corrected. “He didn’t tell you, but he’s still sore about it. He deserved that full-bird promotion but instead they sent him to Aleppo for one last insurgency.” Tony’s eyes hardened. Bruce felt hot and bitter rage wafting from Tony’s shoulders, the same rage he imagined helped build SHIELD. “Total ambush. But you can only cover up so much shit in the military before it starts stinking. He found out he’d been targeted, of course. No one would say how or why, but he knew. Still had to smile pretty for the camera after getting his leg blown off.”

Tony grabbed a decorative pouf and draped his legs across. “Guess it could’ve been worse, he was supposed to get killed. ‘Not on my watch,’ he joked. You saw that right? On the news? The kids memed it for months.”

“I saw.” Back then he’d wondered why Rhodey’s eyes looked so bitter and sad, despite the triumphant grin across his lips. Like everyone else, he thought Rhodes was angry about his leg. Thought that was the reason he pulled away.

God. He’d been such an ass. A clueless ass. 

Bruce peered into his glass. He was drunk, not good. He forced the anger down and shoved his tumbler away. 

“So how does this work?” He couldn’t hide his tone’s bite. “You have a fucking paramilitary black ops team, ready to do your bidding. Assuming Rhodey has the balls to manipulate the US military, and assuming–” Bruce stretched his arms like the scales of justice, scanning the room “–_assuming _none of your li'l insurgents here talk, or go to the FBI, or anyone else–”

“They won’t.” Tony shook his head. “They’re free to go wherever they want, but most of them work and live…here. They’re that committed.”

Bruce’s mouth fell open and he stared at Tony a beat before ripping his glasses off his face and throwing them across the room. “God dammit, Tony. God fucking dammit.”

“Bruce–”

“No. Don’t. Do not ‘Bruce’ me right now.” He shot up from his chair and debated flipping it because of his absolute rage. “You’re running a fucking god damned paramilitary organization with, with what? Plans to incinerate the fucking planet? These are people, Tony! They’re not your little fucking toy soldiers!”

“I know that! Shit, Bruce. Just…” 

“You’re too fucking rich, Tony. Too rich, too _fucking_ removed.” Bruce screwed his eyes tight and tugged his hair, concentrating on keeping himself at a level he could control. He paced haltingly but at least Tony didn’t match his anger. He could’ve. In the past they’d screamed themselves hoarse until Rhodey flipped them off and left the apartment because he couldn’t take their volcanic rages. Rhodey was the coolant to their meltdowns. The only one who could handle their hot heads.

But Rhodey wasn’t here, and Tony wasn’t biting back, so it was all on him. Just him. 

He could do this. He _could_.

But the emotion had to go somewhere, so the anger pooled into his eyes, overrunning his tear ducts. Until he couldn’t help himself. “God dammit.”

He sniffed. He felt his glasses digging into his side and he snatched them from Tony’s hands. “Fuck you.”

“Whatever it takes.” 

Then Tony handed him a box of tissues while he fumbled with his glasses, waiting for Bruce to calm down enough before clearing his throat. “We should talk more. Tomorrow. When you’re sober, when I’m sober. Today was a lot to take in, I know.”

“Do you?” Bruce spat back.

“It’s been a long day,” Tony continued, ignoring Bruce’s retort. “I’ve…there’re two more doors in here. Right door’s the bathroom, left…is my bedroom. Or you can sleep in the barracks.”

Bruce glared at him.

“My room it is, then.”

At this point Bruce moved purely on autopilot while his broken mind dredged up past indiscretions and lonely hearts. It wasn’t hard; the memories always lingered in Bruce’s mind, close to the surface, of the very big bed in Tony’s room and the three of them alternating between middle, big and little spoon.

“Do you want–”

“Company, yes. Don’t ask me why. I’m not sober enough to say.”

Tony didn’t say another word. Instead he silently lead Bruce to his bedroom. His fingers paused before Bruce, hesitated, until Bruce gave him a soft nod. Tony tenderly removed Bruce’s clothes until all he wore were boxers, and folded the clothes neatly in a corner. Tony then took off his own clothes - save his boxers - and turned down the satin sheets of the king-sized bed. 

“Come on,” Tony encouraged. His voice was flat but not cold, and Bruce welcomed it.

He took off his glasses and crawled beside Tony and Tony wrapped his arms around him, like a weighted blanket. Bruce wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He didn’t know what to think or feel or what was okay to think, or feel. The day was already a blur. But here, now, this was okay. It had been decades since they’d done such a thing but the body never forgets. 

So he succumbed to sleep in Tony’s arms.


	4. Merge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets are better left unsaid, and some are better cracked wide open.

Bruce woke, remembering precisely why he didn’t like drinking with Tony. He vowed this time (_why_ was there always a “this time”) to leave the whisky on its designated shelf where it belonged. He squinted and rubbed his thumb and forefinger beneath his eyes, still feeling the heaviness of his mind and limbs with Tony’s body draped around him.

“You awake?”

Bruce grunted. “Yeah. I guess.”

“What do you want?”

“Aspirin, coffee, and donuts.” Not that he expected the donuts. But still. He’d seen them yesterday and couldn’t get them out of his mind. 

“Side table. Check the drawers.” Tony yawned and rolled off of Bruce like a cat. Bruce glanced over, watching Tony tap his wrist twice, then his jaw. “Hey. Who’s on the donut run today?” Pause. “Really?” Another pause, two gestures on his wrist. “Can you grab a dozen sorted for me and bring ‘em down?” Pause. “But if you don’t w–” Long, long pause. “Okay, okay. See you.”

Jaw tap.

Bruce stared at him, hand hovering between the table and the bed. “What was that?”

Tony smirked, tapped his wrist and middle knuckle. “SIberNet. Spelled SI, for Stark Industries. The evolution of telecom patented by yours truly.”

He continued staring. “You fucking scare me.”

“I’ve always scared you. But then, we have a mutual scare pact.”

Bruce pursed his lips and conceded Tony’s point. He found Ibuprofen and bottled water in the side table drawer, then palmed two tablets and scowled at Tony before quaffing half the water. “I bet all your people are connected to SINet, or whatever you’re calling it.”

“SIberNet. Yes, everyone’s connected. But not everyone has access to all functions. Just the higher ups.”

Bruce finished his water and shook his head. “But of course you have access to everything.”

“More or less.”

“Emphasis on the more?”

Tony smiled.

Bruce sighed heavily and felt a stronger ache in his bones. “I’m gonna go take a piss,” he muttered. His head hurt, partly from the hangover, mostly from everything else. “Grab some coffee. Maybe take a shower.”

“Make it fast, donuts’ll be here in less than ten.”

To his credit he barely tripped from the bed. Even now, in the light of day (was there sun? How did they survive without the goddamn sun) the puzzle seemed unsolvable. Too many pieces were missing and until he felt warm, clean, and headache-free Bruce didn’t expect answers from Tony, or his own sluggish psyche.

But donuts would definitely help.

Tony gestured to Bruce’s clothes. “Wanna put something on?”

“What for?” Was his body that repulsive, that Tony couldn’t bear the sight of him sober–? “You’ve seen me naked. I’ll grab a towel after I shower.”

Tony’s face softened, revealing too much vulnerability. But Bruce’s hangover was having nothing to do with introspection. Not this early in the day. 

“Birthday suit yourself, Brucie.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and shuffled from the room.

His mind calmed after leaving Tony’s bedroom. It wasn’t horrible sleeping with him but Bruce wanted more, so it heightened his anxiety. Luckily he didn’t need to feel anything in the front room and his mind could blunt its sharp edges. 

Bruce shuffled to Tony’s window and its great view; also luckily, Tony hadn’t bothered shutting the curtain the night before. He felt like Alice in Wonderland, like he was still dreaming, but his mind was not savvy enough to conjure waterfalls, slick mossy crags, and winding jungle vines. His mind wasn’t quiet enough to recreate this joy. 

Bruce placed a hand on the glass and briefly shut his eyes. The hum of the cave filled him, but then so did the need to piss. His physical body forced him to leave Eden behind. 

While pissing his eyes roved around Tony’s opulent bathroom, top of the line of course. He glared at Tony’s walk-in shower with the perfect, pristine jets and high level stonework. He knew he said he’d shower but he needed to ground himself more, and…no. This was too, too much. Peace first. The shower simply reminded him of the future and he needed the grounding of _peace_.

He left the bathroom with the sole intent of making coffee while staring into the cave. He sighed longingly. Tony would either join him, or wait, it wouldn’t matter. He just…needed _this_. Right now.

“Tell me when, I’ll show you around.”

Bruce squawked, visibly jumping after hearing a not-Tony voice in the corner. How long had he been there, sitting, not staring at Bruce at all? Quiet, proud, and waiting. Calmly staring into the abyss. Lost in his own mind’s prison.

“Hey, Bruce.”

“Jesus, you motherfucker. You…” Bruce closed his eyes, put a shaky hand to his chest. “You know better than that. You _know_.”

“Yeah, well. Guess I figured you’d notice.” James Rhodes chuckled, folded his hands over the handle of his cane. Bruce’s eyes drew to the ornate pattern of the platinum handle, a twisty network of vines and fauna drawn down into an obsidian shaft. He thought if Rhodes were a Disney villain, that this would be the cane for him. But he shot the image from his mind. No Disney villain would be as classy.

“Maybe I would’ve, if I weren’t so hungover.” A chill reminded him of how very under-dressed he was, and he finally understood Tony’s vague question, regarding his clothes. 

He hated how nervous he felt.

“It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Rhodey used his cane to push up from his chair, slowly limping his way to join him. Bruce frowned, eyes instinctively shifting to the rhythm of Rhodey’s shuffle. Rhodey’d either just finished his morning exercises or his other leg had been overcompensating, due to the prosthetic. Bruce wondered, absently, when the last time Rhodey had seen an orthopedist. 

“Kinda makes sense Tony has the best view.”

Bruce took a second to drink Rhodey in before sharing the pristine outskirts with him. A dark chuckle died in Bruce’s throat. “It wouldn’t be Tony otherwise.”

“Heh. True.”

His fingers slowly stroked the glass but he didn’t have the strength to stare at Rhodey directly. Instead Bruce watched the other man’s reflection, as Rhodey’s reflection watched him. “I’m sorry,” Bruce said, unable to find anything better to say.

Rhodey nodded. He shifted his stance as his left hand massaged his cane’s handle. “Nothing to be sorry about, really. It happened. We happened. Other things happened to us. It’s life, man.”

“Still.” Softly, tentatively. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Rhodey’s. Bruce felt tendons jump, then relax. The ground they shared was uneven at best but not broken; Bruce felt some relief in that. 

“It wasn’t fair. I…I ignored you. Didn’t know how to talk to you. Twenty years of friendship, and I–”

“Thirty.”

“Pardon?”

Rhodey’s expression turned wistful and he stared at the carpet. “You…always forget to include your fugitive years, Bruce. You’ve known me and Tones for over thirty, not twenty. But I get it. Happens to POWs a lot.”

Bruce’s face fell and he blinked once, twice, rapidly. He felt his mind shift but he forced his expression to remain neutral. “Oh. You’re right. Of course.”

Then Rhodey reached for _him,_ and Bruce couldn’t tell if it were from pity or love but both equally soured his stomach. “You wanna sit?”

“Sure.”

Bruce sat at the place he’d been the night before, now feeling painfully naked and cold. 

“Here.” A cup of coffee was pressed into his hands and an apple fritter suddenly appeared within easy reach. 

“Thanks.” Bruce took a sip of the coffee and a large bite of the donut. A small smile curled his lips. “You remembered.”

“How could I forget? Six sugars, a tablespoon of cream, and a bunch of donuts. Every Saturday for years. It was your go-to breakfast.”

“Go-to hangover breakfast.”

Rhodey snorted. “Well. We didn’t do Friday nights halfway.”

“No,” Bruce sighed. He slouched deeper in the chair, letting his toes curl into the carpet. “We didn’t.” The silence lingered but Bruce didn’t feel pressured to fill it. Rhodey grabbed his own cup of coffee and filled their silent space with little posh sips, while they enjoyed watching the cave’s waterfall. 

“Did Tony tell you about the clouds?”

“What? Out there?” Rhodey nodded. “You’re joking.”

“Nah, I’m serious.” Rhodey smiled and drained his coffee cup. “More like condensation, though. The atmosphere builds up and makes its own clouds. Gets so humid, it feels like a misty rain. Pretty incredible.”

Bruce shook his head, enjoying their easy conversation. He didn’t…he honestly didn’t believe they could return to this. They’d barely spoken for five years. Really ten, since when he got back he’d been too mentally unstable and…well. 

Things.

“I tried.”

Bruce finished his fritter and found the donut box. He poked his finger around the stacks until he found a jelly filled one. “Tried what?”

“Finding you.”

He’d just bit into the thing when Rhodey dropped him into the painful present. The jelly soured in his mouth but he finished chewing it. Swallowing felt like swallowing marbles of sand. “It…ah. You couldn’t. It wasn’t. It–” Bruce tried again. “There weren’t any drones, like we have now. Facial recognition software was shit back then. And I was really good at hiding.”

“But I found Tony. I should’ve found you. I’m…sorry I couldn’t.”

Bruce shook his head like an animal shaking off a collar. “No, don’t. It’s not–”

“No. Remember it wasn’t just you and Tony, and me and Tony. It was me and you, too.”

He couldn’t say anything to counter because it’d just make it worse. Sadness threatened to overwhelm him but he hid it by taking another bite of donut. He had to spin it, though. “Can’t really change the past,” Bruce said, mouth full of jelly. “We both got hit hard, y’know? It changed all of us. Everything did. We changed.”

Rhodey nodded. “We did. If we hadn’t, you would’ve known about this place when I did. You would’ve been a part of it.”

Sighing heavily, he ran a hand over his rough skin. He needed a shave, badly. “I don’t know, Rhodey. I don’t…this is too much. All of it. I don’t know what it is, but now I’m culpable. What–what’s the end goal really? What’s the purpose? What’s _my_ purpose?”

“Well,” Rhodey sighed. He cocked his head, peering at Bruce. “It’s always been the three of us, you know that. If one of us doesn’t make it, it doesn’t work. It would’ve never worked without you. Tony would’ve worried. I would’ve worried. We needed a consensus.”

“Merging of the minds?”

Rhodey shrugged. “If it makes you feel better.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“Haven’t said no either.”

Bruce finished his donut, allowing it to settle the fear building in his stomach. “But if I do? If I walk away?”

“Nothing will happen. But I imagine we’d get shut down in a few years or we’d move our time table. Either scenario’d probably hurt us.”

“I…shit. Rhodey, I need to know. I can’t make any decisions without knowing the big picture.”

“You willing to hear it all, Bruce? From start to finish, without bolting?”

“What choice do I have?”

“Fair.”

“I mean…” Bruce grabbed another donut. A cruller. “Tony wouldn’t’ve dragged me out here on the guise of a two week business trip without good reason. I’d like to hear out this fucking grand plan. Besides I’m guessin’ it’s already in place. It’s just…hovering. Waiting on me to–what? Agree?”

“Probably.”

“And that’s what I’m afraid of.” He peered at Rhodey and swallowed uncomfortably. “So level with me, then. Are…are we the heroes? Or…the villains?”

Rhodey shrugged. “To be determined, I guess. You know as well as I that history’s written by the survivors.”

“ ‘You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.’ “

But Rhodey didn’t respond and Bruce followed his gaze back to the cave. They’d lobbed that phrase at each other for years, laughed at it, used it as a barb whenever one of them messed up in a major way. But it never seemed more apt than now.

Bruce sighed. “I’m going to take that shower now.”

“Mm.”

The rest of the day would probably break him, but he was used to being broken.


	5. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shower by any other name, and Tony is just...well.

Of the three of them, he took the longest showers. He used water to dissociate, to heal his psyche, to cleanse his soul from bitterness and horror. Funny enough their first roommate arguments came from the hot water shortages he caused - Tony said they needed a bigger, more expensive place, Rhodey expected ten minute showers from everyone, and Bruce refused to move into a posher place further from campus, just for a bigger bathroom. In the end they “compromised” by Rhodey “adjusting” their apartment’s hot water heater and Tony “adjusting” the water meter. 

Despite how he felt, he smiled at the memory. Secretly breaking their lease didn’t appall him; Bruce saw their acts as they were, as expressions of love. It told him they were willing to break the law, if it made him feel better.

And that always was the crux of their relationship, wasn’t it? Love, loyalty, legality?

Anyway.

Since he had a towel over his head and was scrubbing his hair dry, he didn’t see where he was going and promptly tripped over his suitcase. Blinking, Bruce slowly pulled the towel from his head. Dozens of questions shattered his calm and he stared at the suitcase as if it were an apex predator. Hm. He’d forgotten and left in the car with Happy (because two weeks was a fucking long time to go without clothes) but now it was in the bathroom. With him. 

He shook his head. If he tried answering that question and the questions to follow he’d have no room for the important ones, so he ignored the obvious and opened the suitcase hoping his clothes weren’t too wrinkled because of gift horses and all that. 

He slipped on a pair of ill-fitting khakis and a light colored shirt. He hadn’t a clue if his non-regulation pants were  _ de rigueur  _ since they weren’t the black clothes everyone else seemed to wear, but oh well. He’d left his black catsuit at the lab.

After Bruce was sufficiently clean, dressed, and basically put together the pressure of what came next weighed heavily on him, and he found himself standing dumbly in the middle of the bathroom while experiencing Schrodinger’s paradox in real-time. Leaving the bathroom meant...what, exactly? His anxiety presented wildly improbable scenarios but he knew, eventually, he’d have to swallow the red pill.

Bruce drummed his fingers on the handle of his suitcase. 

“Stupid,” he finally muttered. “This is fucking stupid.” His hands shook as he opened the bathroom door. He expected Tony and Rhodey to stare at him but Tony’s living room, or small conference room, or whatever Tony wanted to call it, was empty. The donut box was gone and the curtains closed. True, he’d been in the bathroom for over an hour, but he didn’t expect to be alone. Not yet.

Wasn’t there some code about surveillance for the initiates? Would they have left him to his own devices so soon? Although to be fair, Tony probably had bugs and cameras in every corner of this office (Jesus that was a sobering thought, considering the state of his undress this morning and his appalling display the night before). 

“…anything else. It has to be today.”

Bruce cocked his head; Tony’s bedroom door wasn’t quite shut. The muffled voices were loud enough to echo in the sitting room’s space and since he was more fool than sense, he decided to creep closer. To be as nosy as he dared.

“I’m not saying we can’t, Tony.” Rhodey’s voice, low. Melodious. Bruce already missed him. “I’m just saying you’re putting a lot of pressure on him. Bringing him was a mistake. You could’ve had beers in Manhattan, or done coffee at his place. Or–”

“ _ Tsk _ . You think so? Nah. Rip the band-aid off. Easiest solution.”

“Quick isn’t necessarily best.”

“Isn’t it, Honeybear?”

“Babe. Don’t. Don’t joke.”

Then there was a longer pause, and Bruce assumed they were kissing or some such banality. Jealousy roared to life when he hadn’t expected it to; it’d been years. Surely it wasn’t something he missed, not any more.

“Did that feel like I was joking?”

“No. But…I miss him, too. In here, mostly.”

Bruce’s heart quickened. What did Rhodey mean?

“Sigh. Our little Bun-Bun.” Pause. “He can’t bolt this time, Rhodes.”

“Tony. Just…chill, okay? Let him come on his own.” Another pause. “Shit. Meeting’s in half an hour. Gotta get ready. So do you.”

“Yeah. Shower free yet?” 

Bruce swore quietly to himself and bolted to the bathroom door. He made a show of struggling with his suitcase, as if he’d gotten it caught in the door, waiting for whoever would be free first (and giving them time to cover up whatever they were doing).

“Oh, hey! You’re out.” Tony. Good. That was…easier. Bruce glanced up quickly, as if Tony surprised him.

“Yeah, uh…were you responsible for the suitcase?” 

Tony took a quick look behind him, and Rhodey came out of his room fully dressed. Bruce wasn’t sure if they’d been intimate or not but it didn’t look likely. Of course who could tell? An hour was an hour, after all.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Happy dropped it off at the front gate. He…sort of knows about this place, but not the details. Or that it’s a cave. He just thinks it’s another one of my weirder government contracts, so don’t spook the man with a bunch of questions next time you see him.”

“I won’t.”

“Hey, Bruce,” Rhodey said. He tipped his fingers to him in a half-hearted salute before heading for the front door. “Be seeing you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay…” Bruce watched him leave. It didn’t make sense but he didn’t expect any of it to. Not just yet. “So?” He finally got his suitcase squirreled away in the corner. “What’s on the agenda?”

Tony was still staring at the front door as he answered. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Wh-what?”

Tony smirked, turning back to Bruce. “I mean, the door was opened. It’s not soundproof unless the door’s totally shut, but I kept it cracked for a reason. You don’t need to hide, Bruce. And we’re not going to hide anything from you. So. Cards face up. Yeah, we miss you. Yeah, we want you back. And yeah, we’re into something you might think is shady, but we’re all-in with it. Just depends on what you want to do.”

“Fuck.” Bruce’s choppy exhale rushed from his lungs. “No pressure, huh?”

Tony shrugged. “I’ve gotta get ready,” he said, nodding to the bathroom. “There’s an important SHIELD meeting at the top of the hour, and I want you to go to it. You’ll get all your questions answered, if you go. But if you don’t you can stay in this safe little warren and leave tomorrow. You’ll still have your soft and cushy SI job, but…can’t be sure if you’ll see Rhodey or me again. Clock’s ticking for us, and honestly Big Guy it’s now, or never. Sorry for the push, but…” Tony opened his arms like a carney introducing a circus act. “It’s all I got.” 

Bruce swallowed. His head thudded near his temples and his morning hangover threatened to come back. “I need to decide now?”

“Well…no.” Tony glanced at his watch. “You have about thirty minutes, or however long it takes me to get showered and dressed.”

A small kernel of anxiety bubbled up and Bruce couldn’t help feeling angry at Tony’s squeeze play. Rhodey was all for letting him make his own decisions, from what he heard. But Tony was asking for  _ now _ . Tony always wanted things right away, his way. Would Tony really kick him out if he said “no” today?

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, Brucie.” As if punctuating the point, as if making it ten fucking times harder for him decide, Tony kissed him softly. On the lips.

“Twenty-five minutes, now.”

And Tony left him in the middle of the room, disoriented, livid, and horny.


	6. Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's it all about, Brucie?

Bruce had to promise himself, tell himself really, that the meeting wasn’t any different from other meetings with department heads or board members of SI. He’d been to those meetings. He didn’t like them, but he weathered through them.

Of course, none of those meetings included people staring him down with sidearms, either.

He didn’t feel that many in the room trusted him and he did not blame them. This was more for their benefit than his, anyway.

“Okay,” he’d told Tony before the meeting. Tony had time enough to trim his beard after his shower, and Bruce used the mirror to glare at him.

Tony briefly glanced at him before continuing to manscape his goatee. “Okay...what?”

“Do I have to spell it out–? I’m in, for whatever that means. I’m in.”

“Because…?”

Bruce scowled at him. “Fuck you, you manipulative bastard. Do I have to give a reason, or are you forcing that issue, too?”

“No. I’m not. It’s…” Tony turned off the trimmer with a sigh and wiped his hands down his beard, smoothing off the stray hairs. He flipped around and briefly fingered Bruce’s lapels. “I know I was manipulative. I get how mad you are. But I can’t bring you in if you’re not committed. They’d know. And not all of them are as easy going as Rhodey, or me. You need to know that; their identities are sacrosanct.”

Bruce nodded and sighed as he normally did when presented with the puzzles Tony Stark often gave him. But deep inside he already knew. He was committed because…

Well. He was fucked up beyond recognition, for one. And he was totally in love with Rhodey and Tony and didn’t want to lose them.

And maybe, just maybe, a smaller part of him knew about this? And didn’t care?

Maybe he’d been a supervillain all along.

“So they’ll shoot me first, ask questions later?”

The soulful look he received from Tony was worse than a verbal answer.

But sitting in their main conference room, Bruce felt in danger for the first time since arriving. He briefly caught codenames while they talked among themselves, effectively ignoring him. The one named ‘Bucky’ didn’t smile, and his hand easily rested on his thigh as if ready to shoot Bruce on command. The women didn’t seem much better; “Black Widow” and “Scarlet Witch” weren’t too happy with him. At least the other one, Captain Marvel (what kind of codename was that?) gave him a wry smile every few minutes. Some small comfort, he supposed.

He almost laughed out loud. The meeting hadn’t even started and he was already everyone’s target.

“Relax,” Tony murmured. He jumped when he felt Tony’s hand cup his thigh, but the squeeze helped ground him, once he got used to it. “Just listen. And yeah, don’t make too many sudden moves.”

Bruce shifted so he could glare at Tony. “That’s not funny.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, slipping into the chair at Bruce’s right. “Tony. Stop.”

“I mean, seriously? Can you honestly trust Manchurian Candidate over there?”

Before Bruce could ask about Tony’s nickname for Bucky, the most suave and imposing man Bruce’d ever seen glided into the room and loudly tossed a thick folder of papers on the conference table. “Gentlemen. Ladies. And...guest.” He grinned at Bruce, but Bruce found no comfort in his crocodile smile. It may have been the eye patch that made him most uncomfortable, but it could’ve been his threatening demeanor, too.

“For those of you who are not familiar,” and Bruce didn’t even need to look, to know who he meant, “I am Colonel Nicholas J. Fury, head of this little ragtag outfit known as SHIELD. So. Do I have everyone’s attention?”

Everyone, even Tony, sat a little straighter in their seats. “Good,” Fury said. “Then let me also remind everyone that this soiree is not to be recorded in any way, shape, or form per usual protocol. Please power down all recording devices at my mark...now.”

A few touched their jaws and wrists in a similar pattern he’d seen with Tony before. “All clear?”

Fury glanced at Tony, who gave a curt nod.

“All righty, then.” Fury suddenly looked at Bruce with his one good eye and Bruce squirmed, feeling that this moment was payback from the days he observed eukaryotes under a microscope. “Tony Stark has kindly brought one of his best science buds to grace us with his presence. Dr. Robert Banner–”

“Bruce,” Bruce immediately corrected. It was automatic on his tongue. He corrected anyone and everyone who called him by his given name, but this was the first time in living memory he remembered wincing after correcting someone. “I...sorry. I ah. I go by Bruce.”

“Ahhhh, well, forgive  _ me _ . I stand corrected.” Some of the group chuckled, others gave Bruce a stern glare as if to explain, very clearly, that he was on thin ice. “Dr.  _ Bruce _ Banner. Renowned medical doctor and nuclear physicist - or did I mess that up, too?”

Bruce cleared his throat and quickly shook his head. “That’s. Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“Perfect. Hate to think Stark kidnapped the wrong nuclear scientist.”

No one laughed, but some smirked. Bruce bristled at the idea of coming against his will, but he wouldn’t correct Fury again. Rhodey shot Bruce an apologetic smile, though, and he softly searched for Bruce’s hand beneath the table. Rhodey gave his hand a quick brush before his concentration returned to the group.

“With all of the introductions over and done, let’s get Dr. Banner here up to speed.” Fury sat at the head of the table and propped up his feet before giving the room a death glare. “Well, go ahead. Don’t all jump in at once.”

Clint, who was on Rhodey’s right, cleared his throat. He hunched forward, weaving his hands together in a casual, honest manner that Bruce appreciated. “Think of us as...equalizers, per se.”

“Good,” Fury encouraged. He waved his hand. “Pray, continue, Hawkeye. I like how this is goin’.”

Bruce kept a neutral expression, but his mind tripped over Clint’s code name. Maybe this was why he was lookout - because of his good eyes?

“So,” Clint sighed. “You’ve been around, Bruce. You’ve seen the news, even been in it sometimes. You know how the world works.”

Bruce shrugged. “I suppose.”

“A little more than the average Joe, I bet.” Clint traded glances with Tony, and Bruce wondered how much information Tony’d supplied, regarding his background. “And you’re...if I can be a little bold here. Do you subscribe to any particular political party?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. This question got him in trouble at gatherings, all the time. “Democratic Socialist,” he said, a little unkindly. “Why?”

“Well,” Clint continued in his smooth baritone. “Do you think the US as you know it aligns with your values right now?”

“No. Of course not. But,” Bruce said, holding out for the argument. “That’s what elections are for. That’s what voicing your opinion is for. That’s what  _ protests _ are for,” he said, a little louder because he heard a few groans around the table. “What? And ruling by force is better?” He was ready for them. Expected this argument really, wanted it all on the table. “Forcing people to choose is no better than dictatorship.”

“Bruce, I love your optimism, I really do. But,” Clint said, regarding everyone in range. “We’ve all seen it, all been through it. There is no way any government will treat its citizens as people, when money’s on the line. Whether you’re socialist or hardcore communist or a US Republican, everything comes down to the almighty dollar. 

“Level with me,” Clint said, shifting so he could get a better look at Bruce. “When’s the last time you saw  _ any _ organized group succeed without a monetary exchange? If money’s involved, someone’s in charge, whether you like it or not. And if someone’s on top, someone else isn’t, because whoever holds the purse strings rules the world. It’s that simple.”

“Is it? Nothing’s simple, Clint.”

“Dunno,” Clint said, falling back into his chair. “Prove me wrong.”

Bruce snorted. “Fine. The Jonbeel Mela in India, the Yanomami and Awa tribes in the Amazon, the Kula ring in Papau New Guinea–”

“But do those tribes control their respective nations?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Bruce growled, pointing a finger at Clint. “You asked, and I gave a valid response. Prove  _ me _ wrong.”

Fury threw back his head, laughing and clapping his hands with glee. “Love it.  _ Love _ it.” He gestured to Tony and Rhodey. “Y’all picked a good one.” 

“Besides,” Bruce said, ignoring Fury’s interruption. “ ‘Money’ to certain groups can be a barter system. Some have it, some don’t, but they barter for whatever else they need. They don’t care as long as their needs and their family’s needs are met.”

“Now, ain’t that the truth,” Fury snorted. He smiled a little and let his boots hit the floor. “So if everyone’s needs are met, and money is no longer on the table, do you think that’ll solve all the issues of mankind?”

“That’s...such a puerile question,” Bruce said, knowing how brave - and stupid - it was of him to say it to Fury’s face. “There are no easy answers. That’s why we have different rules of governments and systems. It’s why we govern differently.”

“Who decides, then?” Widow had entered the fray, now. Her accent reminded Bruce of Romanian winters. “Who gets to choose which governments thrive, and which don’t?”

“The people.”

“Ah, I see.” She muttered in Russian, under her breath. “You think the people can control nations effectively? The armies do. And armies are controlled by people with money!”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying every system governs well. But there is a type of barter. Protection, goods, and services in exchange for paying taxes.”

“And every red-blooded patriot gets equal protection, huh?” Fury’s smile turned a little cold. “We  _ could _ go down this turn every minute of every day and don’t get me wrong, I love me some good ol’ fashioned politics like Mom used to make. But,” Fury held up a hand. “I’m sure you suspect that every altruistic organization, no matter how good intentioned, eventually becomes as corrupt as the next, a slave to the system it created. Someone has to lose, for someone else to win.”

Bruce had it with the argument and the double-speak, and frankly he was upset neither Rhodey nor Tony chimed in on his behalf. “So what? The answer is to execute the rich? Liberate the poor? Liberate them to...what, exactly? A life of looking over their shoulder, waiting for a bomb to obliterate their homelands? To starve? To have their children thrown into prisons and everyone to die from diseases that should’ve been cured fucking centuries ago?” His heart pounded in his throat. He glared at everyone, including Tony and Rhodey, feeling froth pooling at the corners of his lips. “How? How the  _ fuck _ will you change it?”

“By creating an opportunity for it in the first place.”

Bruce’s rage subsided at the new voice in the corner. The blonde haired man with a look of quiet resolve nodded at Bruce. “I agree with you, Doctor Banner. We live in a world of assholes and cowards, and no one has the right to tell anyone how to live their lives. But.” The man leaned forward, cupping his hands as if in prayer. “What if you had the means to make sure everyone started on equal footing, and you had the means to keep that equal footing in play, for at least a decade? That everyone on earth - man, woman and child - had access to enough money to take care of themselves and their family, for a full decade? If you could triple their current salary? How they used the money would be up to them, for good and ill, and the money wouldn’t be unlimited. Just enough for a decade. But within that decade they’d be free to live in freedom, however they chose.”

“That…” Bruce rolled his lips. “That would help, I’m sure. But how many countries would destabilize? How would people eat? Get medical care? Hell, how many people would run themselves into the ground -”

“But how many would be elevated?”

Bruce shook his head. “There are too many factors. You can’t guarantee happiness. You can’t guarantee anything. I mean, wouldn’t crime go up? Would people try to get away with murder?”

“They do that now, Bruce,” Rhodey said quietly. He slowly rubbed Bruce’s knuckles, calming him. “Tony’s brilliant, you know? What we’ve discussed is creating something small enough to be life changing for a lot of people while balancing the status quo. We’re also gonna play peacekeeper, to make sure the assets don’t end up in the wrong hands.”

Swallowing, Bruce looked at all of them around the table. “In theory,” he murmured quietly. “ _ Theoretically _ . But you’d have to control...well. Everything.”

“Exactly.” Tony was talking to him, his manic grin returning; the horrible Joker’s smile, a rictus grin. “Remember my AI, JARVIS?” Bruce nodded. “Well. The dirty bastard’s currently co-mingling with every satellite, bank, internet computer system, electronic device with smart technology, every downloadable app on the planet–you name it. Do you know,” Tony said, smirking, “how hackable every military on earth is? How  _ very _ unprotected drones and vehicles and ships and launch codes are–? ‘Cause I do.”

“Jesus…”

“Everything is a-go. The people in this room, at this base, are the only people who’ll know. Once the message goes forth across the planet we’ll take care of the rest. Rogers’ group–” and Tony pointed to the man who’d spoken earlier “–will coordinate the North, Central and South American underground networks. T’Challa here will work the African continent and make sure our militias there are the only ones with ammunition. In fact, some weapons manufacturers are gonna be mighty low on funds and/or electricity for a long, long time.”

“You...you can’t control everything?” Bruce offered weakly. He felt tired. “What...about hospitals? People who depend on daily things that can’t be interrupted–”

“No problem. We thought of everything.”

Tony laid out SHIELD’s grand master plan to save the world, dizzying Bruce with its intricacies and implications. Bruce gathered they planned to implement a Robin Hood principle of rich-to-poor, but on a global scale. The insanely rich would become moderately rich or barely rich, while their funds raced across continents to poor countries around the world. And then SHIELD’s little militia ground troops would be dispatched across the planet, to make sure everyone did their part to maintain their new order. The rich would find their credit...obliterated. The poor would suddenly have their bills paid, with enough continual income to either work - or not - for ten years. Bullets would be in short supply, as every automatic weapon manufacturer would find their factories suddenly without power. And no matter how often stores tried raising prices to make more money off demand, prices would remain within measured limits. 

People would still need goods and services, of course, but SHIELD had plants in every industry around the world, ready to tackle distribution. Effectively, they would be in control of  _ all _ resources - shipping, aeronautics, buses, trains, automobiles, power grids, infrastructure, water, food, corporations, commerce, economics...every goddamn thing on the godforsaken planet. They held the purse strings of the world.

“I ah.” Bruce stood shakily. “I need...I need air.”

Tony shared a look with Rhodey, and they stood up with Bruce. “Meeting adjourned?” Tony asked. 

Fury nodded. “If everything’s in place, I can’t see what else needs doing. JARVIS is your project, Stark; I say we let our ground troops know and kick it off at 0900 our time tomorrow. Deal?”

Everyone in the room nodded.

Bruce barely heard the scraping of chairs across the concrete floors or the murmured voices filing out. He felt, rather than saw, Tony and Rhodey come alongside him, grabbing his arms before he fell. His eidetic memory, the curse and comfort of his existence, had recorded all of their words, committed them to memory. And the onslaught of harrowing data and its implications overwhelmed his senses.

Knowing this, Rhodey and Tony helped him back to Tony’s room. He nodded when they silently asked if they could take off his suit and tuck him into bed. Then they took off their own clothes and cuddled him in the soft sheets and Bruce slowly shut his eyes, not sure if he was falling into a nightmare, or into heaven’s eternal rest.


	7. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything for love.

Bruce woke flailing, gasping for air, but also with two sets of arms stroking his back and side. “Sshh. You’re good. You’re okay.” He initially struggled but after recognizing where he was, his heartbeat normalized. Bit by bit he relaxed in Rhodey’s strong grip.

“You’re okay, Bruce.” Bruce nodded, feeling the warmth of Rhodey’s arms pull him close.

“Man, I could get used to this belly.” Tony poked Bruce’s soft stomach. “You make a good pillow, Banner.”

Bruce awkwardly squirmed between them while Rhodey huffed at Tony. “Way to spoil the mood, Tones.”

“Hey, just saying the truth, Rhodes. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinkin’ the same.” Tony looked into Bruce’s eyes, calming him down by stroking his cheek. “Hey, there. You with us? Feelin’ better?”

“I…don’t know.” Bruce nudged the two of them so he could lie on his back. In the past he’d enjoyed these bedroom moments, had wished for them again, but not with this indelicate dance of truth haunting them. Tony and Rhodes propped their elbows and watched him. They occasionally rubbed his side and stroked his cheek to help him descend to earth. To help him find his words. 

Bruce licked his lips. “I can’t–I can’t wrap my head around this. You’re playing God,” he said, eyes darting between his two loves. “You’re taking over the world. Fuck, Tony, you can’t even find your socks in a dryer. How can you handle every life on the fucking planet?”

“We can’t.” Tony shrugged and Bruce’s panic bubbled in his throat. He then glanced at Rhodey who slowly nodded, confirming Bruce’s fears. He’d always thought he was the mentally ill one, but now–? Bruce shut his eyes. He suddenly felt sick. 

“Bruce, what we’re doing won’t change the lives of a lot of people. The self-sufficient, the Amish types, the off-the-gridders and doomsday preppers will live like usual.”

“And the poor in the cities?” He whispered. With his eyes closed, he saw the people who’d helped him, when he’d been running. They had nothing and yet still they hid him from those who wanted to use him. He heard their cries as easily as his own. “The homeless? People scratching at crumbs to exist? What of them?”

When Rhodey squeezed his hand, Bruce opened his eyes. “Promise you, Bruce. They’re our first priority. Without permits or government roadblocks, we can turn abandoned warehouses into homes and apartments. The money will be diverted to people already working in those areas, and we’ll count on their knowledge to make safe spaces for all.”

“But only for a decade.” 

Rhodey nodded and kissed Bruce’s neck, wrapped him tighter in his arms. “By our estimates, that’s pretty much when everything has to end. Government entities will have to rebuild, based on the models we’ll give ‘em. JARVIS will control over how much people do or don’t do to invest in their societies.”

“Armageddon.” Bruce sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “I hoped I was dreaming yesterday. That I’d wake up, and all of this would be a nightmare. That I wouldn’t have to worry about either of you.” He swallowed, feeling the prick of tears at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want this. Why? Why in the hell are you two doing this?” 

_To us? To_ me?

Tony and Rhodey shared a look. “A few years ago,” Tony began, “Rhodes and I figured out the world…wasn’t getting better, for lack of a better term.”

“It’s always been horrible,” Bruce sniffed. Rhodey released his grip on him and grabbed a tissue; Bruce took it gratefully. “People live, people die. People starve, people throw down ten billion for a painting. The world turns.”

“But it’s had its good moments,” Rhodey murmured. “I’m not talking about all that garbage of making something great again. I’m talking about real humanity. When every day people cared enough to be kind to each other regardless of status or station.”

Bruce blew his nose when Rhodey paused too long. But the voice he heard when Rhodey continued was something darker. “I…I saw the worst things humans could do to each other. We all did,” he explained, squeezing Bruce again. “And no one cares anymore. Apathy’s running the world, apart in a select few cases. Everyone’s rushing to a global conclusion whether warranted or not, and the outlook sucks.”

“God. Fuck that. You would’ve laughed at us, Banner,” Tony chuckled. He bumped Bruce’s head, chasing away some of the rotting butterflies in his stomach. “Rhodes and I got drunk one night. We were out of our minds but we started thinking, what if. What _if_. _What if_ we could build a suit of armor around the world, and gave the world a chance to heal itself? To freeze a moment in time? Not forever, but…still. What would happen? Would it be enough to reverse the damage done the last couple decades?”

Bruce felt his anger returning. “You did this on a drunken whim? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Nah, man.” Rhodey squeezed the anger out of him. “It kickstarted the idea, but we didn’t think much more about it. It took a lot more for us to take it seriously.”

A creeping suspicion welled in Bruce’s belly and he fisted the sheets. “How long have you been planning this? It would take at least a decade–”

“Decades,” Tony clarified. “Decade with an S. Plural.”

“Decades,” Bruce whispered. Yes. That confirmed it. But he had to know for sure. “You had to be in your early 30s, then.”

Tony laughed. “Try mid-20s. And a little after Rhodey finished OCS.”

Bruce swallowed twice. He had to say it. Didn’t want to, but. “Then…you started this. Because…of me?”

Tony and Rhodey exchanged a glance. “Bruce…baby. D’you remember that night we all went our different ways?”

He changed the subject. Tony always changed the fucking subject when he didn’t want to talk.

“Sure, Tony.” Blood rushed from his feet, to his heart. Bruce felt cold, felt himself dissociate. Rhodey knew, though, and pinched him softly so he’d pay attention. “Ow.”

“We’d had a huge fight. D’you remember why? I mean, I know your memory’s shit, Banner, but can you remember that much?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bruce scrubbed his scalp. It wasn’t a memory he liked thinking about. “You proposed.”

“Kinda. Except you bolted.”

Bruce winced. “It was a _lot_. Three guys sharing each other? What the fuck? There wasn’t anything legal about us. Rhodey would’ve thrown away his career.”

Rhodey snuggled close to Bruce and Bruce absently stroked his arm. “No one’s blaming you, Bruce.” Bruce could feel Rhodey shift, knew he was glaring at Tony. “Tony caught us off guard. I needed to think about it too, and used the armed forces as a dodge. But we never had time to discuss it.”

“Because…I got kidnapped. Captured. Sold to the highest bidder.”

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice wavered and he nuzzled into Bruce’s other side. “Knowing you were lost was more than we could take and it got bad for Rhodey and me. We tried moving the nations for you, but–”

“The nations weren’t listening.”

“I wasn’t high enough in rank to get to you,” Rhodey admitted. “But I heard things. Found footage I shouldn’t have seen, shared it with Tones. News crews got to you, their news crews. Paraded you ‘round like a trophy. And you looked out of it. So…out of it.”

Bruce didn’t remember, actually. He dissociated so much during those days, he remembered snippets. Some of the torture, the molestation…well. His body remembered and he hated being touched when he found his way back. He broke off his relationships with Rhodey and Tony (not that he expected them to care about him again because he was too broken. Couldn’t touch. Couldn’t be touched). He ran when he could, when his mind got red enough. 

Even when he returned, he was still mentally on the run. Felt identical to physical running.

Maybe he wasn’t much different than the mercenaries of SHIELD.

“The longer you were out of our lives,” Tony said, taking Bruce’s hand. “The more we saw your broken face. Everyone used you. Either as a medical slave, or a science slave, but you were just a tradable commodity to them. And we–we…couldn’t take it anymore.”

Rhodey’s voice hitched. “Even when Tony threw money at them they kept asking for more. I gave up military secrets, it wasn’t enough. They reneged. They kept pushing, giving us just enough crumbs to find you before you got moved - or bolted.”

Bruce took it in. They hadn’t told him anything. They’d kept all from him for decades-with-an-s, longer than he’d ever been on the run, and until now he hadn’t realized how much he resented them for not finding him. He knew that now. Part of him had resented their happiness over his, them going on with their lives…it wasn’t true, but he’d been broken for so long it didn’t matter.

They’d always wanted him back.

Bruce’s throat was thick with emotion. “Nothing was set in stone, until I got back. Until…”

“Yeah.” Tony sniffed, and Rhodey reached over the two of them, to grab more tissues. 

“When you came back,” Rhodey whispered. “You weren’t…we tried, but we weren’t enough. So what happened to you, and me, and Tony–it was all the confirmation we needed. That wheels needed to be set in motion.”

“Call it ‘revenge’ if you want,” Tony said, blowing his nose. “Call it whatever the hell you want. But I thought it was time the world started caring about people again. Whether they wanted to or not.”

“ ‘The needs of the one,’ ” Bruce awkwardly quoted. 

He sighed.

It was wrong, so wrong, on so many levels. But it was too late to turn back now, the plan had already been set in motion. Tony’s doctoral thesis, JARVIS, would be running the world in a very short time. Rhodey’s and Fury’s soldiers would go forward. The world would be upside-down.

All for…

Bruce couldn’t think about that now.

He cleared his throat. “How much time do we have left?”

Rhodey checked his watch. “Two hours, maybe. You slept most the day; we’ve been watching you off and on, trading shifts while we finished our last minute stuff.”

“Ah.” He rubbed his eyes, feeling the last of his sanity trickle away. “Do you we have enough time to…go out there?” He pointed in the direction of the cave. “I want to see it. Maybe we could get some breakfast and eat over there?”

Tony laughed. “Anything you want, babe. I can get breakfast, coffee…the works. You name it, we have it in the storage cooler, and SHIELD’s got some great cooks. Sure you don’t want donuts?”

Bruce slowly shook his head. “I want to go out there. Food…food can be anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Anything for you, Brucie Bear. We’ll get you the world.”

***

Bruce’s feelings had already overwhelmed him and his autopilot was on autopilot. Normal emotions had shut down, and he wasn’t sure if they’d ever return again. Rhodey and Tony took him to the mossiest place in front of the falls, and he closed his eyes. The spray from the water tickled his face; the soft jungle grasses and mosses squelched between his bare toes. The damp air coated him, the scents around became otherworldly. Behind him, he caught snippets of a countdown, echoing in the cave: _10…9…8…_

Funny how life worked.

He turned to Rhodey and Tony. “What happens now?” 

“Anything,” Tony said, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. “Anything and everything.”

“But it could be a good anything, Bruce,” Rhodey clarified. He bit into a bagel. “We’re together. That’s what matters, now.”

_3…2..1.._

_What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?_

Bruce laughs. 

He understands.

_0_.


End file.
